The Arena of Rebirth wasn't just a trial; it was the whole point of Nexus Academy. At least, that's what they told the students. This wasn't some minor inter-class scrimmage; this was the big league, the internal academy tournament designed to pick out the "Calon Ascendants" – the ones who were supposed to climb to the top. It was held in this massive, multi-tiered stadium that made the entrance trial arena look like a tiny sandpit. Packed stands, glittering lights, and a hum of anticipation that felt like a living thing.
Me? I was technically forbidden from participating. After my 'anomalous' win in the entrance trial, the academy higher-ups had stamped me with a "system stability risk" label. Basically, they didn't want a walking glitch messing up their perfect little show. But Varn, being Varn, had other ideas.
"Seriously, Glitch-Boy, you think I'd let you sit this one out?" he'd sneered, a glint in his heterochromatic eyes. "This is where the real fun is. Where you get to show these 'elite' idiots how broken their system really is." He'd somehow, illegally, registered me. I didn't ask how. With Varn, it was better not to. He probably messed with some digital ledger or bribed a low-level admin. His twin souls thing , coupled with his Memory Drain ability, made him a walking nightmare for any data system.
Reo, surprisingly, didn't argue either. "Look, man, if you're gonna stir up trouble, I wanna be there to see it. And maybe kick some ass while I'm at it." He was still pissed about being lumped into Omega Class, and the arena was his kind of therapy.
So, there I was, standing in the bustling waiting area beneath the arena, the roar of the crowd already echoing above. My uniform still felt scratchy. I looked around at the other participants: confident, preening, showing off their elaborate "Contracted Entities" – glowing spirits hovering beside them, or intricate "Skill Set Trees" tattooed on their arms, already blooming with power. They all looked at me with varying degrees of disdain, or outright pity. To them, I was just a ghost, an error that should have been erased.
My first opponent was a guy named Drax. He wasn't the kid from the entrance trial, but he carried himself with the same kind of inherited arrogance. He was from a prominent guild, the "Flamebound Guild," same as Reo, actually, but obviously from a much higher-ranked family. Drax had a fiery aura around him, literally, and a massive, muscular frame. His skill was called "Authority," too, but unlike the first guy, this was "Authority: Incinerate". He looked like a walking furnace.
"Another Omega Class loser?" Drax scoffed, his voice booming. "And a Glitchborn? They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel this year." He grinned, flames flickering in his eyes. "I'm going to purify you, error."
The bell rang. "BEGIN!"
Drax didn't waste time. He charged, a literal inferno. Fire wrapped around his fists, distorting the air around him. The heat hit me even before he did. He was fast, stronger than anyone I'd faced back in Layer Null. He aimed a blazing punch right at my gut.
I didn't try to dodge. I knew I couldn't outrun him. Instead, I braced myself, letting the punch connect. It slammed into my stomach, a searing, brutal impact that stole my breath. I doubled over, coughing, the pain exploding through me. The crowd cheered, a tide of noise, already dismissing me. "He's finished!" "Just a glitch!"
But they forgot one thing: I wasn't just taking the hit.
That familiar hum, the Ascension Protocol, flared to life inside me. It felt like a circuit board firing, pushing raw energy through my veins. And then, a new notification.
[Ascension Protocol: Copying Opponent's Ability - 1%... 5%... 10%...]
[Ability Copied: Authority (Incinerate) - Temporary Access]
A faint, ghostly heat shimmered around my own fists, mirroring Drax's. Not as powerful, not as stable, but it was there. My vision seemed to sharpen, showing me not just Drax, but faint, shimmering lines of code outlining his movements, his power flow.
Drax pulled his fist back, ready for another devastating blow. "Stay down, trash!"
I straightened up, ignoring the burning in my gut. My eyes, I knew, were probably glowing that eerie blue. "Not yet."
I lunged forward, using a subtle Rewrite on the air density around me, giving me a tiny burst of speed. Drax looked surprised. I parried his next fiery punch, not with strength, but by using the temporary "Incinerate" copy to nullify some of his flames, turning his own power against him, even if for a fraction of a second. The heat flickered, unstable, but enough. Then, with a flicker of my true ability, I subtly rewrote the "pain threshold" of his elbow for a split second, causing a flash of agonizing discomfort where he expected none. He flinched, a surprised grunt escaping him.
It was enough. My copied "Incinerate" flared, still weak, but a visible sign of his own power. The crowd gasped. Drax stared at me, dumbfounded. "How did you...?"
"You don't understand," I said, my voice low, raspy, but clear. "This isn't your system. It's mine." I unleashed a rapid flurry of strikes, not powerful, but each one designed to trigger a minuscule glitch in his balance, his vision, his reaction time. He was a perfect, well-oiled machine, and I was throwing sand into his gears. He started stumbling, missing punches, his fiery aura sputtering.
Finally, I landed a clean hit, using a burst of Void Rewrite to briefly weaken the structural integrity of his knee. He cried out, collapsing to one knee, the flames around him dying down. He was defeated.
The arena fell silent. Then, a smattering of confused applause, quickly overshadowed by angry shouts from the faculty. "That's illegal!" "He's cheating the system!" "Anomalous interference!"
The instructor ran onto the stage, his face red. "That was not a legitimate victory! He used unauthorized… an error in the system!" He tried to disqualify me, but the rules of the tournament stated victory was determined by the opponent's incapacitation. Drax was clearly incapacitated.
From his private box, the Academy Director, a stern woman with piercing eyes, watched intently. She didn't speak, but her gaze lingered on me, a mixture of fascination and extreme caution. It was clear: I had just become her new obsession.
After the fight, the atmosphere in Omega Class was different. Reo looked at me with a newfound respect. "Dude, what the hell was that? You just... copied his fire?"
"Something like that," I mumbled, my gut still burning from Drax's initial hit. The copied ability had faded almost instantly.
Varn, though, was practically vibrating with excitement. He was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on a desk, a huge, unsettling grin on his face. "See? I told you, Glitch-Boy. You're a walking problem for their perfect little system." He snapped his fingers. "This 'Arena of Rebirth' isn't just about picking Ascendants. It's about weeding out anything they can't control." He then leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, the academy has a lot of 'restricted' areas. Places where they keep their dirtiest secrets."
My mind immediately went to that list I'd seen, my name on it, dated years ago. Project Chimera. "Like what kind of secrets?"
Varn's grin widened. "Like where they keep the records of all the 'failed children' they experimented on. The ones like me. And maybe... like you."
That night, Varn led the way. Reo came too, his usual bravado mixed with a newfound caution. Varn, true to his nature, was a master at infiltration. He used his subtle Twin Echoes ability to create minor diversions, little blips in the security systems that drew patrols away. We moved through the academy like shadows, the clean, sterile halls feeling eerie and oppressive in the dim night lights. We bypassed a series of advanced security measures – laser grids that Varn simply drained the memory of their last calibration from, causing them to flicker off momentarily , and motion sensors that he made believe we were just a draft.
We finally arrived at a heavily reinforced door, marked with a red warning symbol: "Hazardous Data – Quarantine Zone." Varn effortlessly slipped his hand through a crack in the frame, his fingers shimmering for a moment. "Memory Drain," he whispered, "It's like tasting data." The door hissed open.
Inside, it was a cavernous space, dimly lit by flickering emergency lights. Rows upon rows of data servers hummed, surrounded by cryogenic tanks filled with strange, glowing liquids. And then, the files. Not just digital ones, but actual physical binders, meticulously organized. We found a section explicitly labeled "Project Chimera: Layer Null Anomalies."
My hands trembled as I pulled out a binder. Inside, there were detailed reports, schematics, energy readings. And then I saw it. A picture of a barren landscape, sketches of creatures I recognized as glitch beasts. And then, a series of logs tracking energy spikes, 'anomalous signatures' in Layer Null. One particular entry caught my eye, dated two years ago: "Unidentified energy surge detected in Core Null. Matching signature to Protocol Zero blueprint. Potential Unauthorized Ascension Host. Designate: Kael Serian. Status: Monitor."
My blood ran cold. They hadn't just found me after I connected to the Protocol. They had been monitoring Layer Null, had detected my unique signature, and had even named me as a "Potential Unauthorized Ascension Host" long before I ever felt that hum in my chest. I wasn't an accident. I was a target. A long-term project.
"What is this?" Reo breathed, staring at the screen over my shoulder, which showed diagrams of human bodies with energy pathways mapped out. "They were... watching you? Experimenting on people like us?"
Varn's grin had vanished. His face was grim, almost… haunted. "This is how they maintain control, Reo. They find the anomalies, the ones who don't fit their system. They either control them, or they 'remove' them." He pointed to another series of files, "Subjects Deactivated."
We heard a faint, high-pitched whine from down the corridor. Security drones. We had lingered too long.
"Time to go," Varn said, his voice flat. "We've got enough to chew on for now."
We scrambled back, the images from those files burned into my mind. I was Kael Serian, yes, but I was also "Kael Serian – Unauthorized Ascension Host." They called me a glitch, an error that bled. But what if I was just a symptom of a much deeper corruption? What if the real error was the entire system itself? And what if, just like a virus, I was something they couldn't just delete? My Ascension Protocol hummed, a low, persistent thrum, a promise of power and a growing hunger for answers.
Thoughts on the environment and Kael's feelings:
The Arena of Rebirth was a spectacle, pure theater. They wanted to project strength, control, a flawless system. But under the surface, it was just another layer of manipulation. My fight with Drax, the way I used his own flames against him, and then subtly introduced those glitches into his perfect form – that was a direct challenge to their illusion. It proved that their "perfect system" wasn't so perfect when faced with an actual anomaly, someone who could literally rewrite the rules. It made me a target, sure, but it also got me noticed in a way that made me feel like less of a helpless experiment and more like a true threat.
Being in Omega Class, surrounded by Varn and Reo, actually felt… almost good. It was a weird kind of belonging. We were all outcasts, but we were outcasts with secrets, and maybe, just maybe, some actual power. Varn was a wildcard, totally unpredictable, but seeing him in action, manipulating security systems like they were toys, showed me just how deep his "glitch" ran. He wasn't just powerful; he was smart. And Reo, hotheaded as he was, was a loyal, solid presence. We were forming a crew, a tiny pocket of defiance within this rigid system.
The sneak mission into Project Chimera, though, that was the real kicker. Finding my name on that old list, knowing they'd been tracking me, waiting for me, before I even knew this world existed… that was terrifying. It wasn't about me "connecting" to the Protocol accidentally. It was about me being chosen. Or, worse, designed. For what? A deeper purpose? Or just to be another resource to be exploited, then discarded? The Academy wasn't just a school; it was a data farm, a breeding ground for something far more sinister. The whispers of "Glitchborn" and "Protocol Zero" were no longer just abstract concepts; they were part of my history, my fate.
My Ascension Protocol felt different after that. It wasn't just a source of power; it felt like a key, a direct link to the very code of this world. And the thought that I could potentially rewrite that code, not just in small ways but in fundamental ones, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Eldrin Voss, the main antagonist for Season 1, was described as someone who could "erase existence" from the system. If I could rewrite, could I also prevent erasure? Or even… undo it? The possibilities were endless, and deeply unsettling. This wasn't just a tournament anymore. This was a war for reality itself, and I, the "error," was somehow at its center.